Goodbye, My Lover
by MadBangel
Summary: HouseStacy songfic. Sounds dire, and it probably is. House reflects on his relationship with Stacy, past and present.


**Goodbye, My Lover**

By MadBangel

Disclaimer: None of the characters are mine, and the lyrics and title belong to James Blunt and his song, Goodbye, My Lover.

Author's Note: I don't usually do songfic. Couldn't stop myself with this one. Sorry.

House sat at the piano, and set his glass of scotch carefully on top. He opened the lid, and struck a few keys. A melody ran through his head and his fingers tapped it out. He was surprised. He'd heard it on the radio a few times, and his hands apparently knew more of it than he'd thought.

He tried to stop thinking about the lyrics, but they too played flawlessly in his head.

_Did I disappoint you or let you down?_

_Should I be feeling guilty or let the judges frown?_

_'Cause I saw the end before we'd begun,_

_Yes I saw you were blinded and I knew I had won._

On their first date, he'd asked her how often she washed her hair. He then persisted in asking what brand of shampoo she used and had she ever had head lice?

She'd thrown her drink in his face and walked out.

She hadn't expected the prescription for scalp anti-irritant that had arrived on her doorstep the next morning, which had cured the itching problem she'd had for three years.

She also hadn't expected the sincere apology and the single white rose he had presented her with when he came by to check how the meds were going.

He'd seen her mouth curve upwards before she could stop it. She'd invited him in.

_So I took what's mine by eternal right._

_Took your soul out into the night._

_It may be over but it won't stop there,_

_I am here for you if you'd only care._

When her roommate's gambling problem had left her faced with an eviction notice, he'd invited her to move in with him.

She'd protested that she'd only known him a week, and he told her that he'd take his chances that she wasn't an escaped convict with a thing for leaving mouldy cheese in the bathroom.

She'd laughed and he'd helped her pack.

_You touched my heart you touched my soul._

_You changed my life and all my goals._

_And love is blind and that I knew when,_

_My heart was blinded by you._

He remembered the first time he realised he loved her.

She'd gone to visit her aunt who lived three hours away. He couldn't stop thinking about her, so he'd driven up to her aunt's place to see her.

He'd gotten a flat tire and had to get a tow. Stacy had wondered where on earth he'd been, she was worried. She'd been hysterical when he'd told her. She noticed how quiet he was, and she'd leaned into him and whispered that she loved him too.

_I've kissed your lips and held your head._

_Shared your dreams and shared your bed._

_I know you well, I know your smell._

_I've been addicted to you._

He liked her smell. It didn't smell like anything he could define, it was just Stacy.

He tried to remember exactly what it was like, but the memories were not of the smell itself, they were of events. Burying his face in her pillow, folding laundry, holding her close.

He wonders if he'll ever smell it again, and decides that he probably won't.

His right leg feels like it's just whacked into hot metal.

_Goodbye my lover._

_Goodbye my friend._

_You have been the one._

_You have been the one for me._

She told him he was still the one for her.

He couldn't bring himself to watch his tongue once in a while.

_I am a dreamer but when I wake,_

_You can't break my spirit - it's my dreams you take._

_And as you move on, remember me,_

_Remember us and all we used to be_

She was home with Mark now. The steamed broccoli to his Krispy Kreme donut.

She loves broccoli.

He hates anything that's green and good for you.

She loves donuts more.

_I've seen you cry, I've seen you smile._

_I've watched you sleeping for a while._

_I'd be the father of your child._

_I'd spend a lifetime with you._

If it were possible to make donuts with the same nutritional value as broccoli, would they still taste like donuts?

He's pretty sure that's impossible.

The donut would be altered beyond recognition.

But trying to make broccoli taste like donuts is also impossible.

_I know your fears and you know mine._

_We've had our doubts but now we're fine,_

_And I love you, I swear that's true._

_I cannot live without you._

They used to fight over everything.

She was good at it. He liked that.

Neither of them gave an inch.

He was almost always right.

She'd get pissy.

Oh, how he loved pissy.

She'd slap him away and he'd pull her back to him.

Later, sleepy and sated, she'd snuggle up to him and he'd pull the covers over her.

_Goodbye my lover._

_Goodbye my friend._

_You have been the one._

_You have been the one for me._

Wilson thinks he's just scared of losing himself.

He does a mental inventory.

Brain – there for being the world-famous diagnostician.

Heart – most people think it's absent.

Leg – still there, just. Still aches like a mother.

_And I still hold your hand in mine._

_In mine when I'm asleep._

_And I will bare my soul in time,_

_When I'm kneeling at your feet._

He had to get used to waking up alone again six years ago.

He likes it now.

No one can see the process it takes him just to get out of bed.

He hates the wall railing with a passion but it's better than when Stacy had to support him to get him into the bathroom every morning.

The one time Wilson tried to help him he had belted his shin with the cane.

_Goodbye my lover._

_Goodbye my friend._

_You have been the one._

_You have been the one for me._

The leg gives another burst of agony.

The Vicodin he took earlier takes the edge off.

_I'm so hollow, baby, I'm so hollow._

Deep down in his bottom drawer there's a box.

Blue velvet.

Small.

Two unused tickets to Paris are in an envelope beside it.

He'd get rid of them, but he avoids that drawer.

There's nothing else in it, he has no reason to go near it.

_I'm so, I'm so, I'm so hollow._

The last note dies away and he takes a long swallow of scotch, screwing up his face before forcing it down.

It burns, but the pain is so familiar it's comforting.

The End.


End file.
